Thief
by Meet-the-Far
Summary: The adventures of a lone thief who seeks acceptance in a world that despises him and his kind.


The streets have never been kind to someone like him. Mixed. Impure. Tainted. The price of an illegitimate love affair. Few people showed empathy to a freak like him. And why should they? Just looking at him was enough to reignite the flames of bitterness between the Alliance and the Horde, more specifically the humans and the elves. An old friendship long gone. The cowardice and ignorance of both. No one wanted nor cared for someone like him, not when he was a constant reminder to harsh memories like salt on a wound. If they did, he wouldn't be stuck out here with his face hidden behind a musty old cloak, stealing what he could just to survive.

Erimaeus drew the cowl tighter around his face, dipping his head so his eyes were hidden from onlookers. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he wandered through the darker parts of the city, as they were usually engaged in some conversation with one another using a language he only vaguely understood. That was a good thing, he supposed. At least no one had identified him for what he was underneath his disguise. And what was this place called again? The Murder Row? Not exactly the most appealing name he'd ever heard, but its dark alleys and shady inhabitants certainly seemed to live up to it. Taking a quick gander, he noticed the place was pretty rundown and very sparing with their light sources (he had only seen about two lamps in the entire area) which would have been a problem if he wasn't already used to such poor environment. There were plenty of structures and objects to climb around as well, and with a little extra effort he could probably find some abandoned loft to make his temporary abode.

He waited with abated breath in the shadows of a narrow passageway, eying a pair of guards as they passed through their usual patrol route. He had no doubts that they would approach or even confiscate him should they catch sight of him in his shady apparel, and that was trouble he was not too keen on. When the guards had finally made some distance from him, Erimaeus dared to peer back into the main street. On his near right was a couple sitting underneath a scarlet awning, but they were apparently too absorbed with one another to notice him, and farther away he saw what appeared to be two bull-men. Or was one a bull-woman? He really had no idea, but he assumed they were allies seeing as no one was angry or getting into a fight.

He looked to his left. There was an empty wagon left beneath the boughs of a thin tree. He quickly scanned the upper structures of the adjacent building and found them sturdy enough to grasp onto. This would be his vantage point.

Wrapping his cloak about his neck and tucking the ends securely in the folds, Erimaeus took one last glance into the depths of the Murder Row. He had about three seconds to do this.

_ One…_

He kicked off with a running start, pumping his legs to build momentum as he propelled himself toward his target.

_ Two…_

His toes brushed lightly against the wagon bed as he leaped and climbed onto the surrounding sideboards.

_ Three!_

Using the wagon's jockey box and his speed as leverage, he sprung himself over the edge in what might have been a magnificent display. He bit back a curse as he successfully latched onto a tree limb, the bark tearing clean through his palms and setting them on fire. With the newfound pain as his adrenaline, he pulled up on the branch and began his ascendance toward the apex of the tree, tugging and wrenching his cloak from the woody fingers as they threatened to pin him down. When at last he climbed high enough to reach the higher ledge, he huddled in a corner and began inspecting the damage on his trembling hands.

The sight of blood was nothing new to him, but it did little to ease the pounding in his heart. Breath ragged and flesh blistered and raw from the climb, he did the only thing he knew for such a situation. He tore off two portions of his already tattered cloak and wrapped them around his stinging hands, all the while fighting back the burning tears in his eyes.

Erimaeus waited for the throbbing to subside before he began assessing his next route. Now that he was higher, he could see the full extent of the city. In fact, most of the housings appeared to be located on this level - whether that was a good or bad thing he wasn't sure. A vast majority of its inhabitants seemed to favor the lower areas for social gatherings, but what did he know about elven culture? The only elf he had the chance to talk to was the one he traveled with for about a year, and that guy was a raging alcoholic.

Still, even if he did get ruthlessly beaten for stealing the man's wine the first time - which he had honestly mistaken for a flask of water - Erimaeus was grateful to have met him. He showed a forgiving nature that no one had given him since his captivity by the slavers. It was… relieving. Relieving to know that not everyone hated your guts for just being born, or because of what you were. And, he found himself admitting, he was the closest thing he had ever come to calling… father.

_ "If we ever get separated and we can't find our way back, head for Silvermoon City to the far north. We're bound to cross paths again one way or another."_

That's what he said, but that was nearly three years ago. And since then, Erimaeus had been blindly traveling the world in search of the old warrior and the city he spoke of. Now that he found it… well, all he could do was watch and wait in hopes of meeting the man again.

Shaking his head, Erimaeus surveyed his surroundings once more. There were many tarps and tapestries scattered about the housings and plenty of ledges and windows for him to climb. But his primary concern was finding a decent place that he could gain access to without tearing a hole in his hands every time. He spotted one such place on top of what must have been an inn, judging by the fancy gold-embroidered sign of a frothing beer mug that hung from some kind of roof ornament. It consisted of an alcove and two narrow archways - perfect for him to make his new hideout.

Certain that his hands would hold up for one last trek, Erimaeus clambered to his feet and pressed his back against the wall. He was much more confident now that he had a specific goal in mind. His eyes darted over to the crimson tapestry extending from one side of the Row to the other, landing directly above the inn. If he climbed high enough to reach it, he could probably ride the tapestry all the way to the roof.

Immediately he set his plan into motion, eyes constantly darting in search for his next route. He hurled over wooden beams and pulled himself to greater heights using the crimson and gold banners that aligned the city walls, wincing every time his movements rekindled the searing pain in his palms. His mind worked like a machine as he carried out each task, always ready for the next step before he even arrived. Several times he nearly lost his footing on the smooth and unfamiliar Sin'dorei architecture, but he always managed to catch himself despite how much it hurt.

With the cool night air brushing against his bare arms, Erimaeus balanced himself on a rafter just above the tapestry and took one last look about the city. Truly, it was a magnificent display - especially for someone who had seen nothing but dark, dank alleys and trees for the majority of his life. It made his heart twinge with guilt knowing he could never partake of the grand city without having to take it from someone else.

A sad sigh escaped his lips as he brought his attention to the crimson tapestry. All that was left was one last jump to reach his sanctuary, and though he hadn't quite yet reached his goal he had to stop and marvel at how much his skills had improved over the years. Apparently no one had noticed him scaling the buildings of the Murder Row, which was a good thing but also somewhat disappointing. He hated running for his life and getting caught, but there was a certain thrill in the chase that had grown on him over the years. Something about the way his blood pumped in his veins and the satisfaction that washed over him upon escaping his captors. Perhaps he would pay the inn a visit for some dinner after settling down…

Fixing his thoughts on that, Erimaeus leaped into the air a final time and rode toward his next destination.


End file.
